Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (49 page)

“Andromeda Control, this is Black One, requesting priorities,” said Richard over the radio.

“Black One, this is Andromeda. Humatrons are closing in on our northern boundary, less than a K. We are taking heavy casualties. Our soldiers need support. I repeat, immediate air support required north by north-east!”

“Copied. On our way!” replied Richard, and glanced around to gather his force. Tardier and Mayard were already tight in an echelon starboard formation, but on his left side Quarrie’s ship was streaming smoke and falling behind.

“You can’t do any more, Chris. We’re in a friendly area – get out while you can!”

“Negative . . . I can hold her, Commander!”

“She’s going to blow – get out! That’s an order!”

Richard heard nothing more from Chris. A moment later there was a blinding flash from inside his cockpit. The spaceship shuddered. Staring wide-eyed, Richard’s heart sank. Black and grey smoke billowed; it engulfed Chris from below, obscuring him in an instant. But suddenly his canopy shifted and a ring of white flashes blasted it clear. Simultaneously, a dark shape emerged from obscurity, streaming red and white flames, and in the blink of an eye it lifted Chris clear and he was gone.

“Black Three, Black Five, detach. Head north. Engage as required. I’ll catch you up,” ordered Richard. He pulled his ship into a tight left-hand turn and followed Chris’s white trail across the sky. The burning ship nose-dived towards the ground; on impact it exploded as a ball of effervescing sparks.

“Do you see him, Thomas?”

“Yes, Commander, seven o’clock position, one kilometre, predetermined flight path.”

Richard scanned the horizon for other fighters and then turned and decelerated. He caught sight of the ejection seat as a brief but vivid flash of rocket propellant cushioned its landing. There was a small puff of dust on the surface and Richard flew towards it. When he arrived he saw Chris Quarrie on his feet and waving. Relieved, he flew a tight circle around him and called over the radio: “Aircrewman down, mark coordinates.” He set course to the north at low level.

Richard arrived in the midst of heavy fighting. The area north and north-east of Andromeda’s main complex had become the decisive battle front. Richard was familiar with the surrounding terrain and being flat and featureless it afforded little cover. Primary ground forces from both sides were engaging in close proximity and a handful of Humatron space fighters had returned from their refuelling station near the Moon’s north pole. Richard hoped that Borghine and Canales had put paid to the place by now, but there was no sign of them. The radio waves were awash with instructions and warnings and cries for help – it was calamitous.

Overhead, sporadic but energetic exchanges took place between opposing fighters. Numbers were severely depleted on both sides and clearly heavy losses had been sustained. As Richard saw another airburst above the battlefield and subsequently part of a Humatron ship sent spinning out of control, he thought the war in the sky was siding with them, but on the ground it looked to be a different picture. The Humatrons had a large force. Richard could see two main groups, each with perhaps thirty individuals, and there were smaller units on the flanks. Storm troopers from the assault pods dropped further to the north had joined with soldiers from the 1
st
Regiment, but their line was under extreme duress. Richard could see a good deal of friendly movement between Andromeda’s northern-most buildings and the front. Soldiers there seemed to scurry back and forth within unseen lines and Richard surmised that land mines were being deployed to funnel the Humatrons into a killing zone.

The main battlefield was peppered with explosions, flashes of laser light and blurring sonic disturbances. An insane struggle raged: humankind against its own technology. Shapes of men and machines that lay motionless dotted the drab, light grey landscape. The dust of fighting rose as an eerie mist. Richard kept low and out of sight and circled the area whilst he formulated a strategy, but suddenly he caught sight of a Delta Class flashing across the horizon. It was trailing white smoke and had clearly taken a hit. To Richard’s alarm, close on its tail stalked an enemy ship. Richard primed his cannon with a short burst and moved in support.

Trailing white smoke gave constant notice of its position, as the Delta Class manoeuvred in desperation. Hampered by mechanical damage, the pilot’s efforts became futile and the Humatron’s
coup de grace
became a matter of course. But Richard knew that target fixation was a symptom avoided only by experience and could not be programmed – not yet anyway – and he waited for the Humatron to flash past overhead and then pulled up steeply in its wake. Evidently preoccupied, at first the robot seemed unaware of Richard’s presence, and it was only then that Richard realised that the damaged Delta was one of his own – Black Five! John Mayard!

“I’m listening to the Humatron frequency, Commander; ground units are trying to warn the pilot ahead. You should act quickly.”

Richard was concentrating on the target. It chased Mayard down in the most astonishing fashion; he needed all his skill to stay with it. “I’m trying!” he barked at Thomas.

And then, in a split-second of stable flight and at the instant the Humatron fired at Mayard, Richard loosed a volley of high-velocity cannon shells at the machinemelt. The results were comparable. John Mayard’s right wing immediately exploded and detached, sending his craft spinning uncontrollably to the left and out of the frame, while heavy armour-piercing shells tore into the Humatron’s ship like a stream of ball bearings at a balsawood model – it simply disintegrated into a thousand fragments. Richard snapped-rolled to the left and pulled a tight turn that avoided most of the debris, although he felt several minor impacts through his controls. He sighted Mayard’s Delta and saw him eject, but he was at an awkward angle and low and this gave the mechanics of the seat little chance to right itself completely before the rocket motor fired to cushion his landing. Consequently the seat bounced and tumbled across the ground before coming to rest in a cloud of dust and debris. Richard was worried for him, but he continued his turn and took advantage of a fortuitous strafing opportunity on a platoon of robots before pulling up and clearing the area.

The battle raged. Aggravated dirt and a thick, black, column of smoke billowed skywards from the frontline; it flashed white streaks from inside like frenetic lightning bolts in a towering and ominous cumulonimbus cloud.

Richard turned into the conflict again; he assumed the hunter’s guise. “Situation report, Thomas!” he called.

“Multiple perforations . . . two minor hydraulic leaks . . . main thrust compromised by eleven per cent. Ammunition is very low, Commander.”

“How low?” Richard scanned for a target.

“Less than ten per cent remaining.”

“Copied!” replied Richard, maintaining a tight circle at 200 feet and a little remote from the fray. And then he saw Tardier’s Delta running an attack from right to left. He was so low that the Humatrons on the ground were ducking to avoid him. In the ship’s wake lay a trail of catastrophic destruction that only magma shells bursting in a crowd could produce – it was carnage on their eastern front.

Richard saw Tardier complete his run and immediately turn for another; it was a flamboyant manoeuvre full of confidence and aggression. Richard gasped. “Not the same line, not again,” he warned under his breath. Seconds later Tardier was closing for a second run but in the opposite direction; Richard could see a problem and accelerated towards the front. He saw a group of Humatrons taking aim with a long-barrelled weapon. “Pull up, Black Three! Pull up!” he called over the radio.

Tardier wasn’t listening; he was skimming the surface, laying waste to another section of robots. Suddenly there was an explosion. Richard couldn’t see if Tardier’s ship had been hit or if the shockwave from the explosion had forced him down, but the result was the same and his Delta bellied onto the ground. Immediately, Tardier lost control and his ship gouged a long, deep trench that curved left in the last two hundred metres. The Delta’s winglets cut off the legs of several robots on its way through, until it finally came to a halt five hundred metres behind the robot’s line. Richard saw Tardier jettison his canopy and he saw Humatrons moving quickly towards him. Immediately, he commenced an attacking run and emptied his magazines on anything that moved within one hundred metres of his colleague. That was all he could do and as he overflew Tardier’s stricken ship he pulled a turn to the left. But he had an idea.

There was one relatively intact Humatron force still moving on Andromeda, but they were being corralled into a narrow column by ground forces and strategic placement of land mines. Sporadically a mine exploded, reminding the Humatrons of the extremities of the battle line. Richard circled in a low, extended circuit that took him behind Andromeda’s main complex. When he was south by three or four kilometres he rolled his ship level and on a north-easterly heading, and raced directly at the buildings. He dropped ultra-low-level. Sand, dust and debris eddied in his wake.

“Thanks for your help, Thomas – now hold on,” he said.

The buildings loomed in an instant and Richard checked back slightly on his control column in order to skim overhead. When he saw the robots he instinctively altered course by a few degrees to run their centre line. Humatrons at the front of the column sensed the danger; they screeched their warnings – perhaps even their fear. The barrage commenced – obliterate!

Richard checked forward – just enough. For five hundred metres the Swiftsure skimmed the ground so close that the underside scuffed the ground. And then he closed the thrust levers and bellied the ship. It was like a ten pin bowling alley and Richard went for the strike. He was a juggernaut smashing through traffic. He ran them down. The winglets were guillotines. He severed their intent; body parts cast aside like old imperialism.

Richard truncated or decapitated almost the entire Humatron platoon. Eventually he skidded to a halt well inside their battle line. When all movement had stopped he reached for the canopy emergency jettison handle and wrenched it. There was a flash of explosive tape and instantaneously the canopy was blown up and backwards.

“Out . . . out!” he called to Thomas and released his harness. But as he was about to climb from the craft, a shadowy figure stepped up from behind and Richard felt two mechanical hands gripping his shoulders. The pain was intense. Suddenly and bodily he was lifted clear of the cockpit and then thrown onto the ground several metres away. He was stunned and shook his head.

When Richard came to his senses and looked up, a Humatron was striding towards him with spiny hands outstretched. The machine’s face screen morphed into a hideous death mask.

Richard climbed to his feet but was easily knocked down again. The Humatron leant over him pitilessly and then lifted Richard by his helmet until his legs dangled, before finally throwing him aside. This time Richard’s visor was distorted. He saw stars and then his vision clouded. Then he felt himself being yanked upwards. His suit gathered under his neck and his chest was squeezed. For a moment he hung there, waiting for the killer blow. His time was up.

Abruptly he was dropped – unexpectedly released to land in a heap on the ground. Richard climbed to one knee. His head cleared and he looked up to see Thomas locked in combat with the Humatron. They threw each other to the ground, raining down indiscriminate blows; it was an even but terrible fight. Thomas’s screen face came and went with his effort, but the Humatron pulled the most repulsive and gruesome expressions and its teardrop-shaped eyes glowed with sadistic satisfaction. Richard climbed to his feet and cast his eye around for a weapon; he found a Lurzengard pistol lying in the dirt with the severed hand of a Humatron still gripping the handle. Richard prised the mechanical fingers open and immediately turned the weapon on the Humatron – only to see that a second machine had set upon Thomas.

For a moment, stunned, Richard watched in despair as Thomas fought off both, but it soon became apparent that he was losing the struggle. Richard saw one of the machines tear Thomas’s right arm from its socket and cast it aside. At that, Richard dashed forwards screaming and opened fire with the revolver, pumping scores of sublets into the first robot’s back. He ran to the side and shattered the Humatron’s face screen with another volley. Finally, the machine dropped and Richard kicked out at its head. The other Humatron released Thomas in an instant and went for Richard. Richard turned the revolver on it, stepping backwards to give himself time, but he tripped and fell. The Humatron stared at Richard for a moment with an expression of savagery and hate and then it lunged forwards, first knocking the pistol from Richard’s hand and then, with a wild swinging backhand, smashing Richard to the ground. The towering machine was quickly upon him. It lifted its leg to stamp out Richard’s resistance, but suddenly Thomas, from behind, pulled it down.

Another inhuman struggle began, but Thomas, with only one arm, was quickly overpowered. Richard scrambled for the pistol, grasped it and rolled clear and then he opened fire again as the Humatron smashed its claw-like heel down on Thomas’s extended neck. Richard continued firing. In desperation he pumped until the magazine was empty. The Humatron ceased its uncontrolled shuddering and seemed to compose itself, then looked down, first at its perforated chest, and then slowly up at Richard. It extended its neck to a metre or more and peered down from on high, as if judge and executioner, and seemed to take amusement, even delight, at Richard’s helplessness. Then it stepped over Thomas’s stricken body, and like the Grim Reaper, moved on Richard.

Richard threw the empty pistol at the Humatron’s face but it calmly moved its head aside. It continued towards him with extermination on its mind. Richard considered running but knew that would be futile; so he stood to fight and prepared for the worst. Suddenly the machine was cut down by a hail of fire from the side. After several seconds the sublet laden carcass crashed to the floor. And then, from out of the grimy mist and the debilitating dust of battle, stepped two storm troopers. Wearing armoured suits with large helmets and utility belts, and holding serious machineguns, they stepped forward like alien warlords.